Certainty

I ripped up the photo of us

I took it off my altar last week

 I don’t know if I regret it

Ripping it, I mean

I can always print another,

If I want

The pieces landed on my guitar

I don’t think it was intentional

I was feeling petty and small and

Just a little bit trite

I can’t tell if I miss you

I’ve rebuilt the wall around my heart

Only concerning you, and a few other

Unmentionables 

I think it’s going to take me a minute

To come to terms with losing you

I had high hopes for us

My childish view of love and 

Relationships shining through 

I don’t want to have to say goodbye

To be conquered by fate and truths

Too harsh to be faced together

It’s important for us, it would seem,

To divide and conquer

Fate has other plans for us

Maybe we’ll get drunk together one night and

She’ll whisper them in my ear

Explain to me why we came together

Only to fall apart

Unsatisfied.

Unsure.

Lessons

I feel something give, even as tears drip from my eyes

I feel it loosen it’s grip around my chest, sad, nameless thing, bound up in archetypes and love, closing out the lessons of the past few years

I think this is the start of what I’ve been dreaming about

These dreams seem to be preparing me for some kind of journey

They are becoming more detailed, more layered, climbing and falling into themselves, leaving me always questioning, always feeling for more

Before I open my eyes, I feel myself going, feel myself realizing wakefullness is calling

What will my future hold? What waits around the twists and turns of time and space?

Time can be a cruel mistress. I move through her uncertain, but somehow sure

Knowing she will lead me to where I need to go

if only I have the strength enough, the courage enough to combine mind, with body, with spirit, with soul.

Turbulence 

I sit at the bar reading The Ethical Slut

Trying to pretend I’m not broken

Acting like I haven’t spent the night

Spilling my guts to the inside of a paper bag

I woke up just after the sun, with my mind reeling

Learning to identify the way regret feels on the inside of my bones

I’ve got fucked up priorities

This is clear to me, in the way glasses are when they come in from the rain

New year, new me

I wish it was a thing I believed

There are so many things I don’t believe

So many truths I’ve learned were false

Here is a truth I know:

I’ve been too focused on love, not on life

It’s funny because I’m currently mystified, my next step escapes me

I’m just wandering, bleary eyed and wild hearted

This life is moving by me, through me and I’m having a time keeping up, and with it, and present

I’ve begun to weave so many different patterns and I am unsure how they will come together

I have a strong desire to just say, fuck it.

To take something large and hard and durable and smash the shit out of everything around me

I was so optimistic yesterday

We’ll see how I feel tomorrow.

Perfect

You make us coffee and we lay in bed

while you try to play me

Perfect on your backpacker’s guitar

you say you’ve never been good with rhythms

you say you need a bigger guitar

I almost have it, you say

I’m sorry

all I can do is look at your hands

strumming the strings

slapping out a rhythm

disjointed, uncertain

Perfect.

Fairest of them All

I saw Snow White sitting 

On a sidewalk

She was wedged between 

A trash can and a light post

She was drunk

And smoking a

Cigarette

I guess she woke up 

To the lies the dwarves 

Had told her

Got hip to the birds

Whispering in her ear

Found out no prince

Could save her,

Would save her

Snow White learned 

The world

Is deeper than that

Darker than that

I watched

As she pulled on her

Cigarette,

Looked vacantly at

The flame

Raising a bottle

To her lips,

She attempted

To drink away

The pain

As I turned

And walked away

Fairy Tales,

I thought,

Would never

Be the same

These Women…

I’m attracted to women the world says are broken.

They drink plenty of water, out of bottles and jugs. They’ve lived a hard life. Know what it takes to make themselves get up in the morning. I’m attracted to women who see their scars as blessings. Who fight daily to survive. To exist.

The world judges these women. Calls them reckless, lost. They’re not. They’re on a quest to find themselves, searching in cracks and crevices rarely visited by daylight. Turning over rocks and pawing through the damp, musky dirt, unearthing broken seeds, and crushed rotting leaves with insects dancing across them. These women sit and watch life, in all its forms. You’ll find them on bar stools and in alleyways staring at the stars, if they can find them though the din. Always watching, looking, a passive sort of quest.

black madonna.jpg

The world which was shown them was harsh and cruel, and attacked at such a young age that it forced them to retreat into themselves, crawl into the haven of their minds and close the door. Lock it shut with barricades of chairs and dressers and books. A haven from the world they were too young to escape, one which guides and weaves them through life as adults.

Adult children, refusing to grow up because they don’t want to become like their teachers. The ones that lied to them, and abused them. Misused them. The ones called safety. Family. Adults.

See, they have learned not to trust what they have been taught, because they have learned that the people who taught them cannot be trusted.

So they make their own rules, go by their own code of conduct. These women laugh the loudest, dance the biggest, love the hardest. I’m attracted to them and won’t never ever stop, because these women?

They are on a quest to find what it means to be alive.

Sandman

Don’t fear the Sandman

Welcome him into your eyes

See the messages he sprinkles into your mind

He is whispering truth to you

Sometimes, truth is violent

Sometimes, truth is gentle

Always though, it is terrible and destructive

Lovely and beautiful

//

I think I’ll dream of you forever

Your blue-grey eyes

Will follow me into sleep

Each time the Sandman

dusts my eyes with earth

Dust

the thing that tugs at me from my  last relationship is not the fact that she and I didn’t work out, because, bless her. I mean, bless her. Hell in a handbasket that one, but the emphatic way in which she professed her love for me. Then just shut it off. Which if I’m honest, I shut mine off too. I tumbled head first into love, because that is actually, not a thing I do. I am meticulous and I analyze and this time I didn’t. I didn’t think, I just lept, and I’m not sorry for it, I’m not ashamed of it. What I am sorry for is that I let her speak in absolutes. I let her tell me that she would always love me. That she would love me forever. She didn’t even love me for a month. I’m smarter than that. I’m wiser than that but I let her. And here’s the thing, the whole time the smarter, wiser part of me was raging against it, part of me believed her. Part of me thought, maybe this gorgeous, lively, drunken mess will love me all the days of her life. And here’s the part I resent, pay attention: the part I resent is that I let that possibility creep in, and it didn’t work out. And now, it has fed my complex. I have an unlovability complex, you see, and she fed it. Piled it high with sticks and brush, poured gasoline on it, dropped a match and walked away as that motherfucker burned.

My mother gave me up for adoption when I was a baby. Gave me up. What the fuck kind of a phrase is that? Then, people are obsessed with adopting things, pets, railways, freeways, elephants, things. I’m lumped together with a fucking freeway and I wonder why I feel less than. Why I feel unimportant. Then I wonder why seeing people as carbon copies of those they share DNA with makes me want to grind my bones into dust.

I was given up for adoption when I was a baby. A woman who was supposed to love me forever gave me away like a pair of jeans and a girl who said she’d love me forever didn’t even stick around to watch me turn to ash.

And it’s not about her. I don’t love her. That’s not the point. The point is that I have an unlovability complex and I am ash. I am dust. And I need that fucking shit to change. The point is I share a category with a fucking freeway.

That’s the fucking point.

The Sea

Let me crawl inside of your head
Take a tour through your mind
Show me where your secrets hide
I want to wade through your confusion
Slip past your memories and
Dive into your sea of knowing
I imagine that if I close my eyes
Open my mouth to let it sit on my tongue
I can taste your truth
Feel it soak into my skin
I want to consume and be consumed
If I dive down deep enough
I am sure I will come upon caves
Caverns lined with the story of your being
I will run my hands along the stone
Read your soul with my fingers
Rough here, smooth there, lovely and complex
The rock glimmers, shines from the depths,
There is a light there
It shines so brightly, dancing and rippling
At once cutting, rising, floating
It is your deepest secret
Your most sacred truth
Hidden safely away,
Buried, taunting, in the boundless
Sea that is your mind

In Which the Poet Recalls the Past

She rakes a nail down her thigh
Flesh pulls, tears, opens
Blood beads along jagged line
Her memories swirl and writhe
As they surface from the pit
Of her mind, finding freedom
Reveling in their escape
Jagged lines, beaded blood
No physical pain matches
Distracts her heart from
The agony, the hopelessness
Running free within her mind,
Hidden deep within her memories.